Olivia Twist(32)

“What is it you are asking?”

“They need our help, Max. Their lives are unimaginable! We have so much, and they have so very little. I would ask you to prayerfully consider making a financial contribution to the cause.”

Max shifted his legs away from her, leaving Olivia’s hand to fall onto the bench. He stared out at the vivid garden for several moments, a muscle in his jaw clenching. “Olivia, I’ve always admired your kindness and compassion. But by giving these boys a handout, you’re only making them dependent on you. They need to learn how to earn an honest living. Even a workhouse has to be preferable to starving on the street.”

Olivia begged to differ. She still had the scars on her back and legs from floggings she’d received for infractions as innocuous as tripping on the stairs. One of her most severe beatings had come after she’d been caught giving a smaller child her ration of bread. And the constant bone-aching cold and gnawing hunger never fully left her mind. She’d gladly abandoned that life of abuse for the freedom of the streets. The first time she’d nipped a meat pie that’d fallen off a street cart, she thought she had died and gone to heaven.

But she didn’t share any of her memories; instead, she spoke as an outside observer. “I’ve heard the conditions in those workhouses are deplorable. The children sleeping with rats. Being beaten for not working fast enough. What kind of life is that, Max?”

Max searched her face, and she could almost see the gears churning in his brain. When he spoke, his voice was hushed. “When I was eight years old, I found a baby squirrel. It was tiny and fuzzy, but Mother would not allow pets, so I kept it in a box in the solarium. I lined the box with an old blanket and brought him milk and biscuits every day. Once he grew bigger and could get out of the box, he would climb the ficus trees and scamper around the room, but he would always come when I brought his food. Summer came and it was time for us to travel to our country house, so I let the squirrel go in the garden, confident that when I returned, he would be waiting for me.”

Max paused and swallowed, the knob in his throat moving up and down several times before he continued. “When we got back in the fall, I ran out to the solarium and set the dish of milk and biscuits on the back stoop. I gave the whistle my squirrel had always responded to in the past, but he didn’t come. I sat down next to the dish to wait, hoping he was being shy. I happened to look behind the hedges bordering the solarium. He was there, by the door, stiff as a board, his little body decomposing into the dirt.”

Olivia’s gut clenched, knowing what he would say next.

“The squirrel died there waiting for me to come back and feed it. It had never learned to fend for itself.” Max took both her hands in his, but her fingers felt numb. “Olivia, I know you’re trying to do the right thing by helping these orphans. But you wouldn’t be doing them any favors. You would only make them dependent on your goodwill. If they are to survive, they must learn to fend for themselves.”

“But they’re people, Max. Brit is their leader, and he’s brilliant and tries his best to protect the younger ones. Archie is clever and scrappy. Chip is only six years old, and he’s been sick with a cough for months.” Olivia could hear the pleading in her voice, but she didn’t care. “Please, Max, they have no one!”

Max set his jaw and shook his head. “I will not perpetuate the homeless issue in this city by providing a handout. If any of the boys are old enough, perhaps we could consider them for a position here.”

Hope flared in Olivia’s chest, but quickly faded when she realized the only one old enough was Brit, and he would never abandon the other boys.

Max stood and held his hand out to her. “Come. We have much to celebrate.”

Olivia swallowed the tears burning the back of her throat as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her along the path toward the four-story stone manor that was soon to be her home. In her wildest imaginings as a child, she had never dreamed of such a mansion. How could she live like a queen when her friends, the boys she’d come to love, were fighting for their lives?

As they reached the back portico, Max squeezed her hand and grinned down at her. Olivia pushed aside her emotions and tried to think logically. Becoming Mrs. Maxwell Grimwig would afford her a wealth of opportunities. Not least of all, ensuring Uncle Brownlow would spend the remainder of his days in peace and relative comfort.

She picked up her step, linked her arm through Max’s elbow, and lifted her chin. She was doing the right thing by marrying him. If nothing else, the Grimwig mansion was a treasure trove of loot that no one would ever miss.



The rented hansom cab pulled up in front of the brownstone she shared with her uncle. It wasn’t the four-story townhome with the pristine white exterior that they’d lived in when she was a child—they’d had to downsize years ago—but in many ways, she preferred this cozy home and smaller staff.

Descending from the carriage, a wave of exhaustion weighed down her steps. She longed to curl up in her bed and hide under the covers. She’d smiled and celebrated with the Grimwigs until her face hurt and her soul felt hollow. But as Thompson opened the door, blatant disapproval etched into his face, a restorative nap seemed highly unlikely. If Mrs. Foster had discovered the maid missing from her duties, the butler would be the first to know. But Thompson ignored the girl as she scurried up the stairs, instead turning his scowl on Olivia. “Miss Brownlow, your uncle is abed, but wishes to see you at dinner.” She nodded in acknowledgement, sensing there was more. “And . . . you had a gentleman caller while you were out.”